If Things Were Different
by NINJA-RENKA
Summary: Based off the movie: My imagination's version of what really happened when Aslan and the White Witch went inside the tent to discuss Edmond's future and unexpectedly ended up re-living the past. PREQUEL NOW UP!


**All right, here it is ,my debut on this great site. I hope you all enjoy my story, because I had fun writing it!**

A few notes before you read, I have not read any of the books of the _Chronicles of Narnia _series, so I have no idea how faithful the first movie was to the actual literary work by Mr. C.S. Lewis, but I still liked it and I look forward to seeing the sequel. I just hope that you appreciate the creativity behind the work as it was an exercise in creative writing before I write more fanfics.

DISCLAIMER: The Chronicles of Narnia series belongs solely to C.S. Lewis and was licensed by Walden media into a fantastic movie. I simply was inspired to write a story by the characters and plot of the author's work that I wish to share with you.

ENJOY!!

--

A hush falls over the soldiers of Aslan's army as the White Witch and her company make their way towards the mighty lion. His amber eyes, narrow as the witch's pale visage appears through the crowd. Looking to his right, Aslan can sense the chill crawl up Edmund's back as his tormentor passes. As her icy gaze descends upon the boy, a sadistic smile curves her lips upward.

"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan."

Her smug remark sends a wave of surprised gasps among the Narnian soldiers as Edmund looks down in shame, letting his dark hair fall over his eyes. Aslan's gaze falls upon the boy with compassion and then turns his attention to the sorceress before him.

"His offence was not against you." replies the wise feline, in a tone that shows no hesitance, contrary to the palpable fear that radiates from those around him.

"Have you forgotten the Deep Magic?" the witch retorts with an air of superiority

At her statement, Aslan's calm countenance distorts with suppressed anger."Don't cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch. I was there when it was written."

The onlookers are taken aback by Aslan's claim, awed by the true age and majesty their leader possesses over the White Witch. The pale woman quickly recovers with a retort of her own, bringing to light the true aim of her visit.

"Then you will well know that the boy belongs to me,"

As she speaks, the White Witch turns to address the crowd around her. To deliver the crushing blow to their hopes, her eyes bore into Edmund as she points a long, pale finger towards the dark-haired youth.

"That boy will **die** on the Stone Table."

Outraged by her claim, Peter steps forth. His eyes narrowed at the sorceress, fully intent on protecting his younger brother from harm. Susan and Lucy stare in horror, looking from one brother to the next. Edmund's eyes show the fear he was trying to hide as he struggles to calm his trembling.

"Come and take him then."challenges Peter in the most masculine tone he can muster.

The witch's face twists into sadistic amusement at the young King's attempt at a threat and replies in a all-knowing tone. Her voice suggesting her already-low opinion of the future ruler.

"You think a simple threat will deny me my right, little king?"

At her taunting, Peter instantly deflates, the desired effect the witch was aiming for. With a smirk of self-satisfaction, she continues educating the ignorant boy.

"Aslan knows that if I do not have blood as the law demands, all of Narnia will be **overturned** and **perish**, in fire and water."

"**ENOUGH!"**

The White Witch turns from Peter as she is interrupted by Aslan. His deep voice ringing in the ears of all in the vacinity. As silence falls over the crowd, the regal lion continues to speak directly to the pale enchantress.

"I shall talk to you alone."

With that, the great cat turn and enters his tent. The White Witch follows wordlessly after him. The two leaders leave their subordinates staring after them, looks of surprise and confusion evident on all of their faces.

--

At the entrance of the tent, Aslan steps to the side to allow the sorceress in, moving to close the flap in order to give them privacy. Once inside the large shelter, the witch moves to the center and takes the time to look around the clothed room. On one side of the tent, sits a desk piled with maps and battle plans. The floor is littered with large, comfy pillows and ornate carpeting. A bed is positioned in the middle of the tent, covered in blankets and pillows that would rival those found in any palace.

"Aslan, I hope you don't think that changing the location will sway my purpose for coming here." states the witch, trying to maintain in control of the future negotiations.

"I wouldn't expect it to." Aslan replies in his deep voice.

The witch turns her body to face the lion, to deliver a scathing response, but her words freeze in her throat. Amber human eyes are staring back at her instead of the gold feline ones she glared into moments before. The true form of the great Narnian king that no one has seen in centuries, and most old enough to remember have forgotten, in all his regal glory. Aslan's eyes stand out from his sun-bronzed skin and dark, wavy locks of hair peek out from the lion's pelt adorning his head and shoulders. He easily stands an imposing six feet with the athletic build of a hardened warrior. Despite his youthful body, the planes of his face reflect that of a wise and experienced man. His toned chest and abdominal muscles lead down to the lion's hide wrapped around his waist and muscled legs supported by his bare feet. The sorceress collects herself quickly, as she herself hasn't seen his form in ages. The familiar sight, evokes memories she'd rather not relive at the moment and instead focuses on Aslan's deep voice.

"We both know you well enough to realize dissuading you is a waste of both our time."

"Then why have you brought me here? I still demand the boy's blood." The witch crosses her arms, waiting for an answer to her question.

Aslan watches her curiously before he responds. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I can't help but think you have other motives and are simply **using** young Edmund to attain them."

As he speaks, Aslan has walked closer to the witch. With every soft thud his feet make as he pads across the room towards the pale woman, Aslan gages her reaction. His body moves with the majestic grace acquired from years spent in feline form and his golden eyes are set into an intimidating and scrutinizing glare. The witch raises her head and matches his stare with one of her own. The aristocrat surprises the White Witch when a small smirk tugs at his lips. He walks past her and sinks into the blankets of his regal bed.

"It's been well over a century and you still haven't changed" remarks the great king in a voice twinged with slight amusement.

The White Witch turns her body to face him completely, lowering her gaze slightly as she replies, "Neither have you. Tell me, do any of your subjects know your **true **form?"

"No, that privilege is held only by you,"Aslan continues reflectively. "I prefer to keep it that way. One views the world differently when you travel it on four legs instead of two."

The witch scoffs at the seemingly ridiculous statement, "That's just the sort of nonsense I'd expect you to say Aslan."

Aslan interrupts her, when he reaches out a large hand towards her. He rests it on her cheek, cupping the fair, pliant skin there. His actions startle the sorceress causing a faint blush to appear on her face.

In a low voice, only audible to the two of them, Aslan comments to himself, "I suppose your countenance and your wardrobe is a reflection of your cold and harsh disposition, however you are surprisingly warm to the touch . . . Jadis.

The use of her given name by the Narnian king, surprises the witch and recalls the memories she was trying to repress earlier. Almost of it's own free will, her hand covers the tanned one resting on her cheek. For a moment her eyes close, enjoying the warmth radiating from his hand and remembering the all too-familiar contrast of smooth and calloused skin. When her eyes open again, they glimmer with a taunting gleam.

"Now Aslan, you wouldn't happen to have your own ulterior motives behind this private conversation now would you? Perhaps reliving old memories?" teased the White Witch.

Aslan startles the witch again as he grabs her wrist with his free hand and pins her to the bed beside him. He peers down at her with the stare of a predator that finally caught it's prey after a long hunt. His large hand holds her surprisingly thin wrists above her head, a look of surprise flashes through the sorceress' dark eyes. Aslan's hand, that was previously cupping her face, is placed by her waist propping him above her.

The great king speaks, his voice laced with regret as he remembers bittersweet memories. "Centuries ago, you and I were married in hope of bringing everlasting peace to Narnia. That dream for us was crushed when you betrayed me in order to take over this land.

The ice witch narrows her eyes, readying herself for Aslan's next move, "Are you going to kill me now?"

"For betraying me?" asked the Narnian ruler. "No, I know you so well that even all those ages ago I wasn't surprised by your betrayal. What surprised me, was your decision to let me live. Tell me, why would you do that, Jadis?

As he asks his question, an uncharacteristic smirk graces his features. The unnerving expression on his face, flusters the White Witch momentarily. She regains her composure as she registers Aslan's fingers running through her platinum blonde hair. The sorceress' impassive eyes lock with Aslan's peircing gaze as she replies cooly.

"I know what you're thinking Aslan, but just because I spared your life once, doesn't mean I'll spare it again. Find comfort in the fact that you appealed to my better nature that day. I promise it won't happen again."

Aslan chuckles deep in his throat, "You made an error, my dear. If you had known me better, than my present actions would not have been a surprise to you. You should have know I'd try to stop you."

The witch smirks as she glares up at the man above her, "I'm no fool, Aslan. I know your nature. After all, you even had to enlist the help of humans to defeat me. Isn't that what the prophecy foretold?"

"So is that why you corrupted young Edmund?" interjected Aslan. "I see now, you were using his confusion to turn him into a bargaining chip against his siblings and me. Well done, however you made a grave mistake. You miscalculated the love between those four children."

"Like you miscalculated the love between us?"

The witch has a smug look upon her face as she watches her observation sink into Aslan's mind. Thinking she won the duel of words, the sorceress watches with amusement as the Narnian king furrows his eyebrows. Suddenly, large hands leave the pale hair and travel to her face. Her breath hitches as the enchantress feels warm fingers tracing over her high cheekbones and a thumb ghosting over her lips. Aslan stares at her face, his eyelids are lowered partially hiding the darkened hue of his golden eyes.

"The only miscalculation I made was taking you for granted." replies the royal in a low, deep voice.

Not expecting that response, the white witch becomes paralyzed with shock. When she feels Aslan's pliable lips against her own the pale woman starts to respond to his ministrations. Her eyes close as she indulges in the kiss, forgetting that they are on opposite sides of a great war. Slipping a wrist out of Aslan's grip, the enchantress glides her hand up his toned arm and over the muscles of his shoulder to rest on his face. Her other hand travels immediately to his dark, thick hair after quickly removing the lion's head resting there.

As their kiss continues, Aslan's hands roam up and down her thin, pale body. His large palms move as if trying to memorize every plane of his sorceress' form by touch alone. For these precious moments, the two remember what it was like all those years ago, when they were simply husband and wife instead of mortal enemies. A time long before two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve ever passed through an old wardrobe.

Parting to catch their breath, the kiss is broken and the two are left gasping for air. They lock their eyes onto one another, the Golden King and the White Witch for the first time in ages with the same painful thought running through their minds.

_If things were different . . ._

_Our loyalties,_

_Our ideals,_

_Our true natures,_

_I could love you again._

_If things were different . . ._

_My old friend,_

_My lost love,_

_My bitter enemy,_

_We wouldn't have to hide our feelings._

_So I continue to wish, to hope, to pray_

"_If only things were different . . ."_

_Knowing that these things will never change._

Lost in their thoughts, the two get up and fix their appearances, golden eyes never meeting dark ones. Facing opposite directions, Aslan's regal voice is the first to interrupt the silence.

"What will it take for you to release your hold on young Edmund Pevensie?"

"A life for a life."

". . . Then you may have mine."

"You offer your life of your own volition . . . you must have quite the stake in the future of those children."

"I believe they can free this land of your hold. And as King, my life is staked in the future of Narnia, it's protection always comes first."

"_I know that all too well. 'Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia' . . ._" the witch muses to herself. She sighs and closes her eyes in irritated frustration.

"I'll be waiting for you at the stone table at midnight," replies the sorceress in her usual cold voice. "And make sure to come alone."

"The Stone Table . . . the King dying where his land was created, how befitting."

"I'm pleased you enjoy the irony."

With that, the ice-hearted woman walks towards the entrance of the tent, fully intent on leaving. However, she doesn't make it as a pair of strong, golden arms encircle her waist. As the witch's back is held against the well-muscled chest, she feels Aslan's breath as it tickles the nape of her neck. One of his hands rises to grip the slim, pale column of her throat as she awaits the ruler's words.

"I've known for quite some time that one of us would die by the other's hands . . . it seems that you have won that honor. I suppose this will be the last time we part with both our lives intact, Jadis."

". . . Enjoy your last hours, Aslan."

As the lord releases his dominant hold on her throat, the white witch takes a step forward and looks over her shoulder. Her eyes drink in the image of Aslan in his true form one final time, as if committing the appearance of her lion to memory. Without a word, she strides towards the closed tent flap.

"Farewell, my wife."

The long-absent endearment, causes the White Witch to freeze, her hand about to pull away the cloth separating the two from the harsh reality awaiting them outside. Steeling herself, the sorceress' lips form the words she hasn't said in over a century.

"Farewell, my husband."

In a flash of fabric and a streak of sunlight, the witch has exited the regal tent. Once outside, her minions and Aslan's army snap to attention. All are eager to know the result of the negotiations. Cold eyes bore into young Edmund, full of unbridled hate and palpable detestation. Hearing the gasps outside, Aslan turns back into his feline form and exits the tent. All eyes are on him and the White Witch, waiting to learn the fate of the young boy.

"The Witch has denounced her claim on Edmund."

The single statement causes the Narnians to erupt with cheers. Aslan and the witch eyes meet once again, this time hardened with their own resolves.

"How will I know your promise will be kept?"

Aslan answers her question with a roar worthy of the great lion. The majesty of it alone weakens her knees, causing her to fall into the seat on her palanquin. The others mistake this for fear and laugh joyously as the witch takes her leave, but only the two leaders know the hidden meaning. Aslan's roar was as good as a blood promise to Jadis. He would keep his promise to the witch, no matter what.

Turning to retire back in his tent, Aslan takes a deep sigh, as if trying to rid himself of the old memories plaguing his mind. Lost in thought, he misses the look of worry growing across young Lucy Pevensie's face.

* * *

****

There you go! I hope no one is offended by my take on these characters. I personally really liked Jadis, after all I tend to side with "villians", I guess is they just seem so interesting.

Any who, please review my work so that I'll be inspired to write more. I love creative criticism as well as compliments. You don't have to LOVE my work, but if you must make negative comments I ask that you do so in a respectful manner, FLAMES ARE NOT APPRECIATED AND HELP NO ONE!

Thanks for reading and Later Days!

**_NINJA REN-KA, OUT!_**


End file.
